


Mac + Nitrogen

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e07 Can Opener, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A tag for 1x07, a little bit of Mac drugged with nitrogen, a little bit of protective Jack Dalton.





	Mac + Nitrogen

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize any of the dialog it's from the episode itself.

In a sea of prison orange, and scuzzy looking men with nothing to lose, Mac shown like a beacon. Even under the guise of his alias, his face schooled into a harden expression, Mac couldn't fully disguise who he was. Couldn't bury the light or goodness of his soul. Too much innocence in his eyes.

And his longer blond hair didn't help either.

Jack almost wished he'd cut it. He had suggested it, but Mac vetoed that idea immediately.

"I'm not getting a buzz for an op that could last a week."

"A week if we're lucky, hoss. But what happens if you're in for weeks, multiple, or months."

"Weren't you in the army?" Riley had asked, trying to help sway Mac's decision. "Wasn't that part of regulations?"

Mac's jaw clenched and Jack cackled in delight at the memories.

"Little bit of a touchy subject, Ri. Specialist MacGyver drove his COs crazy trying to get this kid into a barber to get shorn. After our partnership smoothed out they tried to get me to wrangle him, but that didn't work out so well either. Towards the end they gave up and just kinda let him do what he wanted. Just had to keep it covered up."

"And everyone was better off for it."

"Kid doesn't follow the rules so well."

Jack had done the same as those old COs and just given in, but now he wished he hadn't. Tightly cropped hair would make him stand out less. Mute the target that was on his back from the moment he stepped off the bus. He heard the other inmates, even some of the guards, talking about the blond and Jack made a fist so tight his blunt fingernails torn into his palms.

Riley had talked Mac through what to expect in prison, how to best catch El Noche's notice and how to keep himself safe. She'd also tried to explain the dangers to Jack.

"He's too pretty for this," she warned, her eyes flashed with anger and concern.

"Riley," Jack began, trying to placate her. Mac was a trained operative. He'd been in the Army. He could handle himself.

"I'm serious. He's young. He's a handsome guy and since he's insisting on keeping that stupid haircut he's going to attract a lot of unwanted attention."

"I'll be there, Riley."

"Not every minute. Not always. Not in the yard, or the showers or at night in his cell. Not in the moments when he'll be the most vulnerable." Her eyes implored him to understand. "I've warned him as well as I can, but I think some of the specifics will means more coming from you."

Jack scrubbed at his face. "I'll talk to Mac about not dropping the soap." Riley's jaw clenched and Jack continued. "I'm not taking this lightly. I'll talk to him. We'll do some sparring before he goes in. But I can't get him so tightly wound that he's jumping at boogeymen. I gotta let him do his thing."

Riley was right. It was harder than he thought to keep an eye on Mac. He wondered if he should have gone in as a felon too. At least it would be easier to stick close.

Jack kept Mac from getting his skull crushed in the yard, from getting shanked by an inmate who accused him of cutting in line in the cafeteria. But he hadn't been around when that guy's friends jumped him in the cell block later. Or for the fight with the rival cartel in the laundry earlier today.

In fact, he hadn't seen Mac at all today. Until now as the line of prisoners made their way down the hall. Mac towards the end of the line. The slightest falter in his gait, nearly imperceptibly favoring his side, but Jack knew Mac. Had spent years watching for the most inconsequential sign that Mac was injured, and he was on particularly high alert with this mission.

"You eyeballin' me, convict?"

"No."

"Don't back talk me, boy. Out of line," Jack said, pulling Mac forward out of the line up. Glancing around to see who was watching. "I know I'm pretty but I ain't that pretty. Hands on the bars." He pushed Mac forward. "Arms up. Arms up!"

He didn't miss the wince as Mac raised his arms at his side. Lowering his voice he asked, "you alright, homie?"

Sure and steady hands patted Mac down. To an outsider it looked like a guard frisking an unruly inmate. But Jack was systematically running his hand's across Mac's body, searching for injury.

"I'm fine," Mac replied, his voice low with a surly tone, whether to help sell the scene or irritation at Jack's body check.

"Three brawls this week that I know of, and I slammed you on that wall pretty hard…" Jack's voice trailed off as Mac winced again. "Ribs?"

Mac sighed. "Bruised. Shoulder too, but nothing I can't handle." He wouldn't admit it, ever, but the simple normalcy of Jack checking him over for injury made him feel more relaxed than he had since this mission started. He would gripe and complain about it, but in this moment he was grateful to relinquish control for just a minute. For Jack doing what he could to let Mac know he had his six; let him know he was worried about him.

"That's all? You sure?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, well what about El Nacho? Did he say yes? Did he agree to it?"

"El Noche?" Mac asked with a smirk

"Whatever."

"No. But I think he will."

"Well, that's good."

"In the meantime, I'm gonna need you to get me a few things."

"Yeah, I'll get you whatever you want. Let's go." He took Mac, gently by the arm and led him forward. "You sure you're good? Need to go to the infirmary or…"

"Jack, I'm fine. Just get me the stuff, by this time tomorrow this place will be nothing but a bad memory."

 

* * *

 

His eyes were blurry; his vision swam. After only a few breaths of nitrogen his head pounded, and his lungs screamed for oxygen. He couldn't stop himself from pulling in another useless breath. Blood rushing in his ears, muffling the taunts of the men holding him captive. He struggled against the tape holding his hands to the chair in a panic at the suffocating feeling.

The plastic of the mask had a surprisingly sharp edge that bit into his face. A meaty paw held the mask in place. Mac tried to pull his head back, desperate for air. He'd never liked wearing an oxygen mask even when he needed it. Didn't like the stifling feeling of having his nose and mouth covered, even if it was necessary and life saving. Now the mask was traitorous.

The pounding in his head now had two distinct beats. It took him a moment to recognize he was hearing the thwap of a helicopter. Knowing these men would kill him before help arrived, he kicked over the nitrogen tank and broke the valve, turning the canister into a missile, no precision, but deadly all the same.

A figure approached. Mac squinted, as the blurry image took shape and he realized it was another cartel member. So close. So close to Jack finding him and he would die with rescue seconds away. He closed his eyes and braced for the shot to come.

"Hey man, got your message. You might want to brush up on your Morse code though. I think you misspelled my name." Jack was hazy and flitted in and out of Mac's focus, his voice far away. "Hey boys," he called out, letting the rest of the TAC team know his location, and that he'd found the missing agent. "Geeze man, what have they been giving you?" He said looking more closely at Mac's unfocused eyes. He pulled out a tactical knife and made quick work of the tape. "You look like you could use a nap."

A smile slowly spread across Mac's face. He was still panting.

"You okay?" Jack asked kneeling down in front of Mac.

Mac's gaze wandered lazily around the room, not really focusing on anything. Jack pulled off one of his gloves, his fingers searching the pulse point under Mac's jaw.

"You hit your head?" Jack asked, running his hands through Mac's hair, finding a clump hair dried with blood and a matching bump.

"Um," Mac searched his memory. "Oh… yeah. I mean, they did. When they grabbed me."

Jack pulled a flashlight from his tac vest. "Hey Mac, look right here." Jack directed. Mac looked at him for half a moment and then turned his head to continue his languid survey of the room. Jack caught his chin. "Eyes front," he said, flashing the light in Mac's eyes. Mac tried to pull away.

"Mac," Jack warned, tightening his grip.

"Hurts."

"How bad are you concussed?" Jack asked, mostly to himself, concerned about the lethargy and delayed response times.

"What? No… nitrogen," Mac gestured broadly to the room.

Jack's eyes fell on the canister. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Alright, hold on. Concussions I've got down, I'm a little rusty on my nitrogen toxicity first aid." He said while radioing in to the Phoenix.

Mac waited until Jack was mostly done with his call before deciding he'd had enough of being a prisoner. He stood, swaying unsteadily, and would have hit the floor had Jack not appeared at his side. "Damn it, Mac," he said, trying to lower his partner back into the chair.

Mac resisted. "I don't want to be in here anymore."

"Sit down before you fall down."

"No, Jack, please. I just want to get out of here."

Jack growled. "Fine. Can you make it outside?"

Mac nodded, and the room spun again. He gripped Jack's TAC vest as an anchor when his knees nearly buckled.

"I told you you were going to fall," Jack said, jostling Mac into a firmer hold. Throwing Mac's arm over his shoulder and gripping the back of Mac's prison jumpsuit to help hold him up, he half walked, half carried Mac toward the door.

Mac swallowed convulsively. The change in position, the movement of walking intensified the vertigo that plagued him. They had nearly reach the door when Mac gave an alarmed cry. "Jack!" He coughed and leaned over, narrowly missing Jack's shoes as he vomited.

Jack slid an arm around Mac's middle to help hold him upright, feeling the muscles of his abdomen contract forcefully as they tried to expel the nearly nonexistent contents of his stomach. Jack murmured quiet reassurances as Mac struggled to get his nausea under control.

"What is with you and aiming for my shoes?" Jack grumbled under his breath.

Jack propped him in a chair on the patio. Mac hunched over his knees, sucking in deep breaths. He barely noticed another member of Jack's team bring him a first aid kit, complete with oxygen tank.

"Give me a finger," Jack said reaching for his hand. Mac obliged.

"Very funny." Jack slipped the probe onto the offered finger. "Must be feeling better. Sats are a little low though." Jack said rummaging through the kit.

Mac eyed the tank and mask Jack was preparing for him. He shook his head.

"Mac," Jack said calmly when he looked up and notice Mac quietly panicking. "When I talked to the Phoenix the doc said you might need to wear some oxygen for a bit. Especially on the flight home."

Mac pursed his lips into a tight line. "I'll just take some deep breaths. I'll be okay. I can get my sats back up."

"Buddy, you're going to hyperventilate," Jack said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'd give you a cannula if we had it, but we don't. I'll let you hold the mask. You can control it."

Mac slowly accepted the mask Jack held out to him. With a grimace he pressed it over his nose and mouth. The wisps of cool air made him pull back after the first breath.

"It's okay, you did good, kid," Jack praised him. "It's gonna make you feel better, clear your head."

Mac slowly raised the mask again.

"Slow, easy breaths," Jack coached and Mac made it three breaths before pulling off the mask. Jack was right. The oxygen was starting to clear his head and made it easier to fight through his discomfort and keep the mask on. He still didn't like it, but it didn't cause overpowering paranoia like it had moments ago.

"You hurting anywhere else?" Jack asked, as Mac slowly relaxed. Mac shook his head. "Alright, well transport is ready for us. Think you can stand without puking again? Or--"

"I can stand," Mac said scrambling to his feet, more steady than he was a few moments ago.

"I'm not gonna be happy if you upchuck on these boots. I just got 'em broke in how I like 'em." Jack said, putting the portable O2 tank over one shoulder and Mac's arm over the other, mindful of the bruised shoulder from earlier.

"That happened once, how many years ago? Hold a grudge much?"

"They were my favorite pair of shoes."

"And I'm your partner. Maybe slightly more important than a pair of shoes."

"I guess that's true." Jack caught Mac's eye. "Besides, I finally got you broke in how I like you too."


End file.
